Touch of Evil
by Medea Crowley
Summary: Formerly titled "Let It Be". After the deaths of his friends, Ponyboy is struggling to make sense of it all. He can't seem to get a grip on anything going on around him, but all of that changes when the abandoned house across the street gets a mysterious occupant. Maybe a touch of evil is exactly what the Curtis brothers need to carry on.
1. Dawn's Early Light

_**A/N: This had been a long time in the making, and I want to thank all of you who have patiently waited for this rewrite to happen. I hope it will live up to your expectations.**_

_**Dawn's Early Light**_

Heart pounding in my chest, I bolted upright in the bed and fought against the covers tangled around me, a scream of terror lodged in my throat. I could feel myself shaking violently from the after effects of the nightmare, and I hoped that I hadn't screamed loud enough to alert my brothers. It had been a while since I'd had one that I couldn't remember, but I knew it would worry them if they had even the slightest idea that I was having them again.

The shaking increased as a portion of the terrible dream popped unbidden into my mind; those glowing, red eyes burning out at me from the dark depths of a hooded figure as if trying to scorch my very soul. That voice speaking, a gravelly rasping that echoed in my head like rock on sandpaper, when the figure had raised one hand and pointed at me with a claw-like finger.

_Free the soul, Ponyboy, and the rest will follow._

Looking around the bedroom and trying to shake off the panic that was making my chest tight, I realized it was almost dawn and a dim, gray light was coming in the window from outside making everything look like the black and white surreal-scape of the television. The house was quiet except for an occasional popping noise from the furnace vent in the hallway outside the bedroom, and I remembered my oldest brother, Darry, saying that the old thing had one leg in the appliance graveyard and the other perched on the edge of the ravine.

_We're going to need a new one soon, but … _I shivered as a cold draft skated across the bed and silently cursed the furnace for the strike it was on. There was no way we could afford a new one or the money it would take to fix the one we had. With fall of the year already upon us, I had a sinking feeling that we were looking at having to layer our clothes to keep warm when winter finally arrived. _Darry will figure something out. He always does._

A low snort from my left reminded me that my brother, Sodapop, was still sleeping beside me, and I breathed a quick thank you that he was such a sound sleeper. _He could sleep through a tornado spinning right through our bedroom._

I rubbed my eyes to clear the blur from the edges of my vision and looked around the messy room. Sodapop's beige work pants from the day before were hanging halfway off of the edge of the cluttered dresser, his DX shirt was hanging on the corner of the half open door, and the hardwood floor was only visible in patches among the other junk that had accumulated over the past month. The room already looked like a tornado had hit it.

With a sigh of relief that I hadn't woke Sodapop up this time with my screaming, I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them in an attempt to stop the shaking before the shuddering of the bed under him did the job for me. It was hard enough dealing with the lingering after effects of that dream without having my brother questioning me about it and looking at me with that worried concern in his eyes.

Lowering my forehead to rest on my knees, I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. I'd had nightmares before, but nothing like these and it scared me something fierce. At least my other dreams were gone when I woke up. These stayed and haunted me for hours afterward even though I could never remember a damn thing that was in them except for those eyes and that voice. That was enough, though, and part of me was glad I didn't remember more.

"Pony?"

Raising my head, I met my brother's sleepy brown eyes. He must've seen the remnants of my nightmare reflected in my eyes because his gaze darkened slightly with worry. _Here we go … twenty questions that I don't know the answers to._

"M-Morning, Soda," I forced myself to say with a small smile that I really didn't feel like letting show. My lips hurt almost immediately from forcing them to bend against their will, but I ignored it and kept them firmly in place. "You're awake early."

Yawning widely, Sodapop pushed his blondish-brown hair out of his eyes and peered around groggily. "You okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, he added, "What time is it?"

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside me. _Five fifty-eight … no wonder it's so light outside. _"Almost six o'clock."

I flinched when a hand came down on my shoulder, and I turned back to face him. "You can go back to sleep, Soda. I'm fine."

When he looked doubtfully at my still shaking hands, I hurried to reassure him. "Really, Soda, I'm fine. It's just a nightmare. No big thing."

Sodapop frowned briefly. "You sure? I can stay up with you a while, you know."

Another shudder of icy prickles coursed through me that had nothing to do with the furnace's laziness, and I shook my head, sliding over to the edge of the bed. "It's too early, Soda. I'm gonna go smoke."

I could feel his eyes on me as I rummaged through the cloths piled on the floor and quickly got dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that I wasn't sure belonged to me or not. It was a little big on me, but I'd lost some weight recently so it could've been mine. I didn't have time to worry about possession being nine-tenths of the law, though. I had to get away from Sodapop quick or he would pry the details of my dream out of me, and I didn't want to talk about it since that would mean admitting that I couldn't remember what had happened. The fear was still too close to the surface.

"If you're sure …"

"I am," I snapped, my tone unintentionally brisk. Guilt flooded me as I recognized the hurt in his features, and I tried to soften my tone. "You have to get up for work in a little bit, Soda, so go back to sleep. I'll be fine alone."

Without waiting for him to reply, I made my escape into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door back into its half closed position behind me, ducking the DX shirt as it swung through the opening toward my face and hoping like hell he wouldn't follow me. I didn't feel like talking about anything right now, especially not about that dream. I just wanted to forget it had happened; push it to the back of my mind and forget about it for now.

_The same way you've done Johnny and Dally,_ a small voice accused from somewhere inside my brain. _You can't keep pushing things away just because you don't want to face reality._

I shivered from the slight chill in the house as I entered the living room and firmly told that voice to shut the hell up. There was nothing it had to say that I wanted to hear.

Peeking into the kitchen as I went by, I sniffed the smell of coffee lingering in the air along with the slightly charred aroma of toast, and I knew that Darry was already gone for a day of roofing houses. He was always the first one up, even on Sundays when he didn't have to work.

Crossing the living room, I wasn't one bit surprised to see that our couch was occupied by a lump under the colorful quilt we usually kept folded up on the back of it. Darry's "open door" policy usually meant waking up to someone sleeping on the couch, and sometimes there would even be two or three other people sacked out on the floor.

I couldn't tell who it was under the quilt since the only part of them showing was their nose, and that just wasn't enough for me to make identification. It wasn't like I went around memorizing everybody's nose and filing it away in my head for later use. Whoever it was would be revealed soon enough when Two-Bit arrived to give me a ride to school … if he managed to crawl his lazy ass out of bed on time that is.

I'd been tardy three times already because of him, and the next time would mean having to get Darry to sign a note from my first period teacher. I didn't even want to think of what my brother would say to that. _At least he can't blame me for it. I could walk there and be on time if he'd just let me._

Leaning over the coffee table, I snagged my pack of cigarettes and the battered lighter from it as quietly as I could manage while trying to see more than just that nose around the bunched up folds of Mom's quilt before I headed outside to indulge in my only bad habit. There was no telling who it was crashed out on the couch, but I knew it couldn't be Steve or Two-Bit since the large pair of brown construction boots, or shit-kickers as they were called, that were poking out the far end of the quilt weren't familiar at all to me.

_Probably some friend of Darry's who was too drunk to make it all the way home last night. _I opened the front door as quietly as I could in deference to our unknown guest still snoozing on the couch despite the urge to slam it as hard as I could just to get a look at them and stepped out through the screen door into the chilly morning air of early October.

It wasn't much warmer outside than it had been in the house as I padded out onto the porch in my socks and dropped down onto the top step, but I ignored the chill bumps that rose up on my arms. While I drew in the first lungful of smoke, my gaze focused on the amber and violet glow on the horizon above the shabby houses and cluttered yards that made up our part of town.

The sun would be up soon, and the peace of the neighborhood would be shattered by angry shouts and banging from the inhabitants as they arose to another day of drowning their misery and poverty in fights and booze. Sometimes it was amusing to watch the different dramas playing out up and down our street, and the height of entertainment was when the police were called out to mediate a disturbance. It almost always ended up with somebody cuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car, and it was better than watching I Love Lucy.

I took another draw from my cigarette and leaned my back against the porch post as the fear of my nightmare slowly dissipated in the wake of the rising sun. We didn't have it as bad as some in our neighborhood, but money was still pretty tight. Darry worked full-time as a roofer and Sodapop worked at the DX full-time, but they still barely made enough to keep the bills caught up.

At least we had each other. That was more than most people had. After the events surrounding Johnny and Dally's deaths a month before, we had been sure that the state would separate us and put me into the foster care system. We had ridden out the aftermath of that night in the park and the fire in Windrixville, though, and had been allowed to stay together with a few conditions added in for good measure.

Sodapop and I couldn't get into any trouble or we'd risk our family stability all over again, but that wasn't a problem. Neither of us had been in big trouble before anyway so keeping our noses clean wasn't too hard a thing to manage. We had the gang to keep us on the straight and narrow when Darry wasn't reminding us to behave.

That annoying voice piped up in my head again just then, _Y__ou mean what's left of the gang, don't you?_

It seemed to love reminding me that we'd lost two of our closest friends in such a small amount of time. I missed Johnny and Dally … Johnny most of all. He was my best friend and my confidant; the only person that understood me and didn't ridicule my thoughts on the things around us. I doubted if I would ever meet another friend like him again no matter how long I lived. That kind of bond was a once in a lifetime kind of thing.

I jumped as a loud bang echoed from across the street, and I jerked my gaze away from the colors spreading across the sky above me. Surprise filled me when I noticed for the first time that I wasn't the only one on the street up this early. Across the street at the old Morgan house, a figure with what looked to be a long, dark ponytail trailing down its back was standing at the edge of the porch with a hammer in one hand and what looked to be a two-by-four in the other.

It looked like a woman to me what with the long hair and all, but I wasn't sure if my eyes were seeing things right or not. Very few women around our neighborhood would be caught dead banging on boards with a hammer at this ungodly hour of the morning no matter what kind of repairs needed to be made. That was the man's job to do even if the libbers did want to argue that a woman could do anything a man could do.

I remembered Two-Bit saying something about somebody moving into the abandoned house, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what he had said after that about them. I shrugged to myself. I was probably reading or thinking when he told the gang about it. I'm bad about zoning out like that. Besides, one more face in the neighborhood wasn't going make a difference any way.

Wincing a little when the figure slapped the board down onto the porch and started nailing it down, I tossed my cigarette into the dirt beside our porch steps and got to my feet. It was time to get Sodapop moving or he'd be late to work. The noise echoing from across the street would surely wake my brother up, and quite possibly our unknown guest, too, if I was lucky. Curiosity was beginning to get the better of me.

I was about to go back inside when a loud shout resonated from across the street behind me, and the clearly male sound of it made me spin around on the porch to stare at the long-haired figure again. Maybe I had been mistaken in thinking it was a woman after all.

"Get your ass down from there, Sidney! You're gonna break your stupid neck!"

I couldn't keep the laughter from coming through my lips when I spotted the smaller figure of a kid perched on the porch roof of the old Morgan house with his feet hanging over the edge. Blond hair almost as long as that of the other figure reflected the rising sunlight that was now peeking through the trees to dapple our front yard with golden spots, and I squinted at the tan colored blob in the kid's hands.

The sun-faded football in those hands brought back memories of the time we'd played football and Dally had punted Steve's new ball all the way across the street where it landed on the roof of the old Morgan house. It had rolled down the shingles to wedge in the corner where the eaves had pulled loose a little, and Dad had forbidden us to retrieve it from its resting place. The football had just lain there in the sun, snow, and rain over the last three years taunting us when we were sitting on the porch, but none of us had dared disobey Dad's order to stay away from that house ... not even after he and Mom died in that wreck. Such was the power of my father's authority over us and our friends.

"I found a football, Des!" The blond kid dropped the football over the edge between his legs and it narrowly missed hitting the man below him. I could see now that it was a boy despite the long hair, and I wondered if our neighborhood was going to be hosting one of those 'commune' houses Two-Bit had talked about a few weeks before. "Looks to be in okay shape, too!"

"That's great," the man answered in a voice that was clearly sarcastic, his head tilted back and one hand shielding his eyes as he stared up at the kid. "Now get your ass down from there right now."

I could make out markings on his arms, and my mind registered them as possibly being tattoos of some kind. It wasn't unusual for the guys in our part of town to ink themselves as a show of toughness that they could handle a needle puncturing their skin over and over, but from my vantage point … this guy had way more than I'd ever seen before on any single person. _Maybe he's one of those Hells Angels that we saw on the news the other night. God I hope not. Darry will pick our house up and drag it away himself._

Dropping his arm, the man nudged the bleached out football with one foot while the boy flipped over onto his stomach and dangled his legs over the edge of the roof. "You got one of your own, Siddy. Why would you want this old thing?"

Anger flared in me at his words, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the tone of his voice or that his words somehow cheapened the memories I had of the football. It was a link to the past when we still had Mom and Dad around to guide us through the world, when Darry still had dreams of college, when Sodapop wasn't a high school dropout, and when Dallas and Johnny were still a part of the gang in more than just memory.

_There's no way he can know what the football means to you,_ the snappy voice in my head reminded me. _No use in getting all uptight about it._

Sighing as I realized the voice was right for a change, I pulled the screen door open and headed inside to start the day, ignoring the voices still echoing faintly from outside the house. There would be plenty of time to find out who our new neighbors were, and I was sure Two-Bit would be the one to tell us all about them. He seemed to soak up gossip like a sponge and spill it back out without much reluctance, so we were never in the dark about anything going on in our part of town for long.

* * *

**Updates will be once a week on Wednesdays, but there will be times when I will post chapters on other days depending on my time and that of my beta.**


	2. New Neighbor

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, hits, and views. Over a hundred views for the first chapter ... wow. I never thought my stories were that well liked. As for reposting the old versions, I will do that once I get further into posting the rewrite for those who are interested in rereading them.**_

_**New Neighbor**_

Something was wrong with my little brother. Ponyboy was always a quiet kid, but since our parents died he'd become even more closed mouthed and after Johnny and Dally died he almost stopped talking altogether. Right now he was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch watching television, but from the glazed over look in his gray-green eyes, I knew he wasn't even seeing the program playing.

He was lost in his own world again and oblivious to everything going on around him. I didn't know how to make him feel any better, and it hurt me to know he was going through something I couldn't help him with. As his big brother, I'd always been there for him and did whatever I could to keep him happy … or as happy as any older sibling could manage anyway. We had our bad times, but the good ones always seemed to overshadow those.

"Your go, Soda."

I tore my gaze from my little brother to look across the card table at Steve. "Huh?"

My best friend glared at me and snorted. "Get your mind back on the game, buddy."

He shot a dark look toward Pony. "What's wrong with the kid this time?"

Shaking my head, I dropped my eyes to the cards in my hand. There was no use in bringing up the things that were on my mind right then. Steve and Ponyboy didn't think I'd noticed the undercurrents between them over the past year or so, but I had and I was hoping anything going on behind the scenes with them would stay in the background until they could work it out themselves. I wasn't about to choose sides.

"Nothing, I guess." I forced myself to study my cards and sighed. Nothing was exactly right. I had a King and four number cards. Laying down all but my King, I said, "Gimme four."

"You need to quit babying Pony," Steve intoned in a low voice as he tossed me my cards. "He needs to grow up and get on with his life."

"He misses Johnny," I replied, picking up the cards and adding them to my hand. I could feel tension already starting just from the tone of his words. It was building in the air like a lead veil coming down over the room. "They were really tight, and now Pony has no one to hang with."

"We all miss Johnny. Dally, too, but there's no sense in letting it get you down. That only drags everyone else down with you."

Anger at his callous words rose in me. Steve had never understood my little brother's sensitiveness or the way he took everything to heart and felt deeper than others. Empathy wasn't a word my friend was familiar with. Hell, I barely knew what it meant myself. "He's not dragging any …"

A loud banging on the front door cut my harsh words off before I could add something I may regret saying later. Sometimes I got the feeling that my best buddy didn't like Pony for some reason, but like I said … that was something they would have to work out.

"I'll get it," Two-Bit said cheerfully, making his escape from the table and the tension I knew he could feel just as strongly as I could. "Butler Two-Bit is on the job!"

"M'kay." I went back to arranging my cards, trying to make a decent hand out of it. "You can't deal worth a crap, Steve," I complained, hoping to change the subject. "What'd you do? Stack the deck again?"

Steve grinned superiorly. "It's not my dealing, Soda. You're just a lousy poker player."

"Lousy!" I dropped my cards onto the table and glared at him good-naturedly. "I am not lousy! You cheat!"

Lunging across the table, I knocked him over backwards, chair and all, and got him in a headlock. I could feel his Adam's apple bouncing against my forearm as I tightened my grip, and continued insulting him. "You filthy cheater! I oughta knock your block off!"

Crashes and bangs filled the room as we wrestled across the floor, each trying to get the upper hand. I knew Darry would have a fit when he seen the mess, but all my energy was focused on winning at the moment. I would worry about the rest later. The worst my older brother would do was give me a long, boring lecture about my impulsive behavior and how we couldn't afford to be replacing the furniture and lamps every other day. Big deal.

"Soda!"

Two-Bit's shout stopped the fighting, and we broke apart, both of us panting for air and laughing. "What?"

I rolled over onto my back and sat up to grin at him. "I was winning! Why'd you have to interrupt for?"

Curiosity got me as I noticed there was another person in the room that wasn't there before. His black hair was longer than I'd seen on anybody around our neighborhood and it was pulled back into a ponytail like the broads wore when they were having P.E. class in school. He was wearing the ordinary attire for us poor folk of jeans, t-shirt, and black square-toed boots, but his arms were covered in more tattoo ink than I had seen on the entire Shepard gangs' arms.

"Hiya," I said cautiously, not recognizing the man and wary of having a stranger in our house like this. Especially one that looked like he did. "Can I help you?"

"You guys have a crowbar around here?" Two-Bit asked in his usual jovial tone like it was nothing having a stranger that looked like an ax murderer standing in our living room. "One of those that pulls out nails?"

_A crowbar … to pull out nails? He looks more likely to use it to bash somebody's head in …_ The man's dark green eyes rested on me and coldness shivered down my spine at how emotionless and dead they were. I'd never seen anyone with eyes so flat and empty before. It was like looking into a bottomless cavern.

"This," Two-Bit added while motioning to the dark-haired man with a sweeping wave of his arm that he had to dodge or risk being smacked in the side of his head, "Is Desmond. He just moved into the house across the street."

"I think so." I got to my feet and moved closer to them. Desmond wasn't as young as I had first thought he was. He couldn't be more than twenty-two or twenty-three; a couple of years older than Darry at the most. "If we do, it would be in the shed out back."

I turned slightly toward the couch. "Pony, run out to the shed and see if we have a crowbar."

Ponyboy's eyes stayed glued to the television like he hadn't even noticed that we had company or that I was talking to him. I sighed in frustration when he didn't respond. "Pony!"

Steve kicked my little brother's tennis shoe with his foot hard enough to make a thumping sound. "Wake up, Pony. Soda's talking to you."

Pony jumped slightly and looked up at Steve with a dazed expression. "Huh?"

Rolling his eyes, Steve repeated, "Soda's talking to you, kid."

He flopped down onto the couch muttering under his breath. I gave my brother a wide smile when he turned to me, and ignored the urge to kick Steve. "Run out to the shed and see if we have a crowbar out there, Pony. Desmond wants to use it."

My brother's eyes shifted to where Desmond was standing patiently beside Two-Bit and widened slightly before he nodded. He got to his feet unhurriedly and pushed past me without a word to disappear down the hallway. I heard the back door slam shut a few moments later and knew he was on his way out to the shed.

Steve snorted loudly, but didn't say anything. He stared at the television with rapt attention when I glared at him, pretending to be engrossed in the cartoon that was playing. "He'll be back with it in a few minutes."

Two-Bit edged toward the hallway. "I'll go with him," he said. A delighted look took over his features as he added, "Might find some of those fireworks Dar hid from us last summer."

I groaned, and flopped down on the couch beside Steve, motioning to the recliner. "Cop a squat, Desmond. This could take a while. Two-Bit gets distracted easily."

Desmond hesitated a few seconds before accepting the invitation and sitting down on the edge of the chair. "Thanks," he said in a barely audible voice. "I appreciate it."

I raised one eyebrow in an imitation of Two-Bit at the unfamiliar accent his words had. They weren't as twangy sounding as hearing my buddies or my brothers speaking, but they still held a Southern drawl to them. "You're not from around here?"

He shook his head. "I use to live here, but I've been gone for a while."

"I'm Sodapop Curtis," I introduced myself. "The small one is my brother, Ponyboy. And this," I said, turning to punch Steve on the arm, "Is Steve Randall."

Turning back to him, I grinned. "And you've already met Two-Bit."

Desmond nodded to Steve with a slight dip of his head and looked around the room. "Where's Darrel?"

Those flat eyes settled on me. "Or is he at college by now?"

My mouth dropped open in shock. He knew Darry?

"You know Darry?" I heard Steve ask incredulously before I could recover enough to ask the question myself.

"We knew each other years ago," a soft voice answered Steve's question, drawing my attention back to the present. "Before I left Tulsa."

I finally found my voice again. "You used to live here in Tulsa?"

The head leaning against the chair back moved up and down slightly, and the mellow voice said, "Yeah, a long time ago."

When he didn't elaborate, Steve frowned in annoyance and sat back on the couch in what I knew from experience was definitely a huff. I just stared at the man with what I knew must have been a strange expression before leaning an arm on the side of the couch and resting my chin on my hand. "Must've been a _long_ time ago," I replied as I studied the impassive features, looking for any signs of unease or discomfort. "Because I don't remember you, and I've lived here all my life."

A rumbling outside announced the arrival of my oldest brother home from work, and I shifted my gaze to the door in anticipation, waiting to see what would happen when Darry found a stranger in our house during his absence. He was obsessive about strangers seeing Pony and I when he wasn't here because of the State coming in whenever they pleased to check on us.

I never understood what he thought he could do by being here even if it was one of the caseworkers, but he was insistent that no one except our gang be here when he wasn't home. Sometimes to amuse myself, I pictured him lifting our caseworker like she was a bale of shingles and tossing her through the front door to roll down the steps and into the yard. It was a satisfying way to pass the time and it made me chuckle.

"I'm home! Soda! Pony!" Darry shut the door behind him and turned to face us, his tired, blue-green eyes scanning the room for us and automatically doing a head count. "What's up?"

I watched my brother's expression change like lightning as his eyes moved from where Steve and I were copped out on the couch to where Desmond was lounging in the recliner … Darry's personal, private 'get the hell out' space. His features went from neutral relief to outraged disbelief when his gaze settled on our guest, and then finally changing to one of anger.

What was this all about? The disbelief I could understand since the man had lived here before according to him, but the anger I couldn't even begin to understand. _Maybe they didn't get along back then … that's a possibility._

From the corner of my eye, I saw Desmond get to his feet, but I didn't move my eyes from Darry. I was hoping for some sign that would tell me who this man was, and how he knew my brother. "Dar, this is ..."

"I know who he is," Darry spat out, disgust making his features darker. He took a slow step toward the recliner. "I know _what_ he is, too."

His eyes shifted briefly toward me. "Where's Pony?"

"Out back with Two-Bit, I guess." I frowned in what I hoped was a telling enough way to let him know he was being rude. Mom had always been a stickler for manners and up until now, so had my brother.

"What's the matter, Dar?' I asked softly. "Desmond is our new neighbor. He's moved into the house across the street."

That's when I saw something in my oldest brother's eyes I thought I would never see. It was fear; pure and simple fear. It was only a momentary flicker that he quickly masked, but I still had seen it. What was he afraid of? Why did having Desmond as our neighbor scare him?

My thoughts were interrupted when Desmond shuffled his feet a little on the hardwood floor, his gaze detached as he met Darry's eyes steadily. "I think I'd better leave," he said, taking a step away from the recliner. "The air in here has gotten very inhospitable."

Darry nodded tightly, and stepped to one side to allow him access to the front door. "A good idea," he growled in a voice I had never heard come from him no matter how angry he had been. "Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you."

_Whoa … that ain't the Darry I know. _I watched the tall man stroll over to our front door and grip the doorknob, his gait slow and marked as if he had all the time in the world to escape our house and he was going to enjoy the walk. I knew my older brother could be a smart aleck at times, but since our parents died he'd not shown that immature side of himself at all.

"And, Reaper …"

My heart skipped a beat at my brother's cold tone and the name he'd used. Why had he called Desmond that, and why did that name sound familiar to me? I wasn't exactly known for my ability to retain memories, but somehow that name seemed very memorable to me. It echoed a few times before settling into a lot inside my brain. Maybe it would come to me later where I'd heard that name before.

Desmond turned slightly to look back over his shoulder at my brother; his features still the same emotionless mask he'd worn since arriving in our house. "It's Desmond, Darry. You know that," he replied in a warning tone. "Reaper no longer exists. I am Desmond Morgan, and only Desmond Morgan."

Darry's face darkened slightly, but he recovered from the disrespect much faster than he would have if Pony or I had spoken to him in that tone, or even Steve or Two-Bit. "I don't care what you go by now," he retorted. "Don't come anywhere near my brothers again. Dig?"

There was a heavy silence in the room for the few moments it took for Desmond to stare at my brother with a thoughtful expression before he nodded and yanked the front door open, stepping outside onto the porch and pulling it shut behind him with a low thump that echoed through the tension filled room.

I couldn't believe how Darry was acting! He'd never been rude to a guest in our house before regardless of how he felt about them! Mom would've taken a switch to him for behaving that way, and it wouldn't have mattered one bit that he was grown man of twenty. Our parents didn't stand for any disrespect to them or to others, and I had memories of the hickory switch to prove it.

"That was rude, Dar!" I admonished him as soon as the door had closed behind Desmond. "He just wanted to borrow the darn crowbar!"

Darry's features hardened in a way I had seen only once before… when Steve had called him all brawn and no brains and he'd broken his jaw. "You are to stay away from that man, Soda," he ordered in a tone that brooked no arguing. His gaze shifted to Steve and back to me. "All of you stay away from him. Got it?"

No way was I giving up that easily. I liked making new friends. That's why I loved my job at the DX so much. It meant I could meet new people and make new friends while getting paid for it. Crossing my arms over my chest in defiance, I shook my head. "Not until you can give me a good reason, Dar. He seemed nice enough to me."

"I'm not in the mood to argue over this, Soda," he growled. He dropped his tool belt onto the table near the door and scooped up the mail that had arrived while we were at work. "Just stay away from him, and that's final."

He stomped off into our kitchen without another word. I was tempted to follow him and continue the dispute, but just then the back door slammed shut and I knew Two-Bit had returned with the no longer required crowbar. Darry didn't often warn us away from anyone, and it was odd for him to do it over someone we didn't even know.

Sure, he'd told us not to run with the Shepards or any of their gang, but he's still polite to them when our paths crossed. Tim has even spent the night on our couch a few times since Dally's death, and my brother hadn't uttered a single negative word about it. Darry was keeping something from us about Desmond, and I wanted to know what it was.

The unpleasant energy still pressing down on the air inside our living room was testament to that. Who was Desmond? Why don't I remember him if he and Darry were close enough to get that kind of reaction out of my brother?

* * *

_**Thank you once again for your reviews, hits, and views. I appreciate every single one of them.**_


	3. Disillusional Confrontation

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, but like John Lennon once said … Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.**_

_**Disillusional Confrontation**_

I sat in my recliner watching Soda and the gang playing their usual rowdy game of poker, the newspaper pulled up in front of my face so I could see them without them knowing I was watching. Let them believe I was an old fuddy-duddy that came home from work and disappeared behind the newspaper all they wanted. I was responsible for them, and they tended to say more about what was going on in their lives when they thought I wasn't listening.

Pony had gone to his room to do his homework right after supper, and had only picked at the spaghetti, not taking more than two or three bites before saying he wasn't hungry. That wasn't a cause for concern because his appetite had been picky since Johnny and Dally's funerals, but the tense light in his eyes during the meal had given me hesitation. I hadn't drawn attention to it, though, or tried to pry the reason out of him.

Our relationship had slowly been getting better over the last month or so. I had learned to curb my frustration at his absent mindedness during that time, but he still needed to be reminded to do his work and to pay attention to what he was doing most of the time. It made for some edgy moments between us still, but at least we weren't at each other's throats any longer. That was something at least.

Two-Bit tossed his cards on the table, and stood up stretching. "I'm a rolling on outta here, guys."

He gave us his usual good-natured smirk and made a big production of flipping up the collar of his leather jacket. "So many blondes, so little time."

Steve laughed. "You're just escaping before you lose your ass," he accused, tossing in his cards, too. "You know bluffing ain't gonna get it."

I suppressed a smile at the thought of anyone actually making any money off of Two-Bit. He'd never held a job in his life, and had no plans to do so in the future … near or far. I pretended to be engrossed in a story about a house fire on the Soc side of town until I realized the room was quiet. Too quiet considering our house was usually around the decibel range of a 747 taking off.

Bending down one corner of the paper, I met the expectant gazes of my brother and Steve and sighed inwardly. _Here we go …_

Ever since I'd more or less tossed Desmond out of the house, I'd been waiting for them to question the scene they had witnessed between me and my former best friend. Raising one eyebrow, I looked from Steve's blue eyes to Soda's brown ones and asked, "What?"

Soda leaned back in his chair and propped his bare feet up on the coffee table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you gonna tell us, or not?"

Pretending I had no idea what he was referring too, I raised my other eyebrow questioningly. "What am I supposed to tell you?"

Frustration marred his handsome features in a way that reminded me of Mom when she was irritated with one of us, and he glared at me. "About Desmond, Dar. Why don't you want us around him?"

I raised my paper back up to cover my face and rattled it to straighten the crinkles that bending the corner had caused. "I have my reasons, Soda, and I expect you to do as I asked."

"That's just it, Darry!" he exclaimed, dropping his feet back onto the floor to sit forward in the chair. "You didn't ask, you ordered!"

Steve moved from his chair to the couch, and leaned his head back against the top of it to stare at the ceiling. "We do have a right to know why we're avoiding someone, Darry," he insisted in a low voice. "If you have a good enough reason, then we'll do as you want us to."

He turned his head to meet mine around the side of the paper. "I trust your judgment on these things, and I won't do anything that will bring the law or the State down on you guys."

Soda hit the roof just as I expected him to at this sign of betrayal from his buddy. "Steve! You're supposed to be my best friend and take my side on things!"

"He's not taking any side, little buddy," I cut in before he could get into an all-out tizzy. Sodapop tended to be a little on the excitable side despite his usually easy-going nature, and the last thing I needed right now was him getting all wound up over Desmond's sorry ass. "He's just saying that he will do as I asked if my reason is good enough."

My brother's angry eyes shifted to me. "But you ain't gave us a reason, Darry! I can't avoid someone just on your word!"

Sighing, I dropped the paper once again while my mind tried to get the wording right so that I could explain to them why I didn't want them around Desmond. I sure as hell couldn't give them the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They would think I had lost my mind for sure if I did that. They did need to be warned, though, since hanging around with someone like Reaper would be like playing with a match while sitting in a puddle of gasoline.

"He used to live in this neighborhood," I said grudgingly, not sure how much I would have to give them to shut them up. The bare minimum suited me just fine. "You probably don't remember him since you and Steve would've only been about six or seven, and Pony was three or four."

"Wow." Steve said in a shocked voice. "How long has he been gone from here?"

"That don't matter," I replied with a wave of my hand. I was quickly getting tired of dodging their questions, and I didn't really want to talk about Desmond Morgan since he was a touchy part of my past that I had no desire to revisit. "My point is, he was trouble then, and he's probably even worse now if his appearance is anything to go by."

Soda was quiet a moment and his face scrunched up into a thoughtful expression that would've made me laugh if we weren't discussing something so serious. Right then, he looked like Daffy Duck with his bill smacked sideways the way his lips were pouted out and twisted. "He didn't look too bad to me, Darry, and he seemed nice enough."

My heart did a plunge in my chest at the curiosity in those words, and I had this uneasy feeling that my warning wasn't going to be heeded by my brother. Sodapop was too curious for his own good sometimes, and that inquisitiveness tended to get him into trouble because he didn't have the common sense to back it down. "I don't want any of you to have anything to do with him, or anybody he's hanging with."

"But …"

"No buts about it, Soda," I said in a firm tone to indicate that this conversation was over as far as I was concerned. "Just keep away from him."

Raising the paper back up to stop any further questioning, I rattled it loudly and added, "All of you stay away from him and that house."

I could feel them staring at me even through the paper, and I regretted having to be so abrupt with them. _It had to be done_, I told myself just as sternly as I had spoken to them. _Desmond is trouble, and I don't want my brothers or our friends dragged into his rebellious ways._

A sudden idea came to me just then and the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that it was my only recourse to make sure my brothers would be safe from the influence of Desmond Morgan. I would go right to the source and make sure Reaper understood that my brothers and our friends were off limits to his brand of madness.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o**

I could hear the music from inside the house before I had gone more than five steps from our porch, but that didn't stop my determination to give Desmond Morgan a piece of my mind. I didn't care if he had half the thugs in the neighborhood in that house for a welcome home party. He was going to listen to what I had to say. He had been gone from my life for years, and I wasn't going to allow him to come in and upset the balance I had worked so hard to maintain after the deaths of Mom and Dad. _He can go right back to whatever level of Hell he came from._

As soon as I stepped off the cracked sidewalk onto the crunchy autumn grass, a familiar chill from days gone by washed over me and prickles of fear long buried rose up to make the hairs on my arms stand up. I kept walking toward the front porch despite the urge to spin around and run that came over me. The house had always gave me the creeps even when Desmond and I had been running buddies, and the feeling I was getting of being watched from the window on the second floor didn't help that feeling any.

The porch was just as rundown and neglected as the rest of the house was after being empty for so long, and I had to choose my path to the front door carefully or risk plunging into the space below that I knew was probably crawling with spiders and God knew what else by now. When I banged on the front door, it was swung open almost immediately and a boy around Pony's age stared at me from red-rimmed blue eyes. The blond hair that hung in his face was long like Desmond's and it reinforced my opinion that the bad seed from my past was moving his insanity into our peaceful neighborhood all over again.

"I want to speak to Desmond," I said in a tone that meant business, meeting the pale blue eyes steadily. I didn't know who this kid was, and I had no desire to find out. Desmond had always had a way of gathering followers around him no matter how insane he'd been, and right here was proof that he could still enthrall the younger generation into keeping pace with his madness. "Now, please."

The kid's eyes widened slightly as he looked me up and down, taking in my height and muscles, no doubt. He stepped to the side and motioned me in with a wave of his hand. "C'mon in. He's in the back messing with that old jukebox he found."

_Jukebox?_ I couldn't believe Desmond was capable of messing with anything except other people's minds, and experience had taught me that he was very good at that. "Take me to him."

Without another word, I followed the boy through the living room and took in the fact that there was nobody there except the blond kid now leading me across the pale green carpet of the living room. It wasn't a party after all. _They just like the music loud, I guess._

Studying the place carefully as I followed the boy toward an archway on the other side, I wondered where all the furniture had come from since this house had stood empty ever since Desmond had left. There'd been no moving vans anywhere on our street or I would've seen them, so how in the world did this place get furnished so fast?

"He's in there," the boy said, pointing to a door at the end of a short hallway. "No need to knock. I doubt he'd hear you anyway."

I nodded. "Thanks …" I stumbled for the right ending to my sentence, but realized I didn't even know the kid's name. I couldn't very well call him 'kid' since I wasn't sure exactly how old he was. Looks didn't mean shit, and I didn't want to offend him if he was older than he appeared to be. _Damn Mom's rules on politeness._

"Sidney," he finished for me, a grin lighting his face as he apparently realized my dilemma. "Just call me Sid or Spook."

_Spook?_ I shook my head and moved away toward the door he'd indicated. What kind of name was Spook? _About the same as Ponyboy and Sodapop_. _At least Dad didn't hang me with a strange name._

I snorted with amusement before remembering my reason for being here and pushed the door open, quickly wiping all trace of emotion from my face before entering. I stepped into the dimly lit room and shut the door behind me to block out most of the loud music that vibrated through the house. I wanted to make sure Desmond heard every word of what I had to say so there would be no chance of him misunderstanding. He was known for finding loopholes in sentences and exploiting them, and I wasn't going to allow any room for him to slip through my warning.

My eyes widened slightly as I scanned the room. It looked like a music center! There were instruments sitting around, microphones on stands, and a huge jukebox sitting in the middle of the floor. A scraping noise caught my attention, and I tracked it to the area behind the jukebox where I could now see a pair of motorcycle boots poking out around one side. "Reaper?"

A loud clanging vibrated through the room as a metal tool hit the floor and bounced. After a few seconds, Desmond peered around the side of the jukebox at me, his eyes widening slightly. His hair was loose from the ponytail it had been in when I'd spotted him in my living room, and I was slightly jarred by how long it had gotten over the years. Desmond had always went against the norm when it came to his appearance, but having hair halfway down his back was an extreme I hadn't expected from him.

"Desmond, Darrel," he said insistently. "My name is Desmond, not Reaper."

He scrambled to his feet and picked up a rag to wipe his hands on, his green eyes still pinned on me in an unsettling way. "What do you want?"

I could sense the reserve in him and decided to use it to my advantage. This house was still giving me the creepy crawly feeling, but I had to see this through. "We have to talk."

When he continued to hold my gaze blankly, I added, "About my brothers."

He dipped his head into a nod before looking down at where he was scrubbing the dark grease from his hands, the curtain of dark hair sliding forward to conceal his features from my view. "I thought we'd already gotten that out of the way earlier."

"You didn't give me an answer." I leaned back against the wall, and crossed my arms over my chest. "You left before I got an agreement for you to stay away from my brothers."

He raised one eyebrow. "What makes you think I want to hang out with a couple of kids?"

I lifted my own eyebrow at him mockingly. He was being obtuse on purpose. That had always irritated the shit out of me when we'd been kids. "Just from past experience."

Desmond froze, his arm outstretched to lay the rag down on the top of the jukebox. "The past is over and gone."

His eyes glowed eerily as he reached up to tuck one side of his hair behind his ear. "There's no way of changing what happened, and there's no reason to keep reliving it."

I shrugged and watched his face intently, waiting for any sign that would tell me why he had come back to Tulsa after so many years. "It's not my concern."

"It ain't," Desmond replied in an agreeable tone, kneeling down to pick his tools up. "I've not seen either of them since they were little squirts."

He dropped a wrench into the black toolbox on the floor. "I was sorry to hear about your parents, though. Tim said they went quite suddenly."

I was momentarily speechless. How could he have talked to Tim Shepard if he was gone from Tulsa? "Tim?"

He raised his head, amusement making his eyes lighten. "I was in prison, Darry," he informed with a slight smile that made his features less imposing. "Not on another planet, you know."

I nodded reluctantly. "I know that."

Desmond shut the toolbox lid, and picked it up. "Tim was in for breaking into a liquor store, and they put him in with me for a few months."

He strolled over to a workbench on the far side of the room and set the box on it then turned to face me once again. "We kept in touch after I got out. He called me when Johnny and Dallas died, too."

A shiver ran through me at the thought of Desmond keeping track of our lives like that without our knowledge. He'd always been freaky to say the least, but this just fortified my belief that whatever Desmond Morgan was … he wasn't like the rest of the world. "How long have you been out?"

"A while." He walked over to the jukebox and started shoving it toward the wall. "They let me out early for good behavior."

Desmond chuckled softly when I remained silent, and he reached up to swipe that god awful hair back from his face. "I never expected that to happen."

I pushed away from the wall and crossed the room to help him shove the heavy jukebox up against the wall. "I never expected you to get out at all."

"I was fourteen, Darrel." He turned to look at me curiously, the glow in his eyes making me shiver again. "They couldn't hold me forever. I've done my time and moved on to better things."

"Reaper …" I was taken aback when his face hardened and anger made his eyes brighten even more with that eerie light.

"Don't call me that!" he hissed furiously. "I am Desmond Morgan!"

I took an unconscious step back from the fury that emanated from him in strong waves, and my mind flipped back to a night almost eight years ago when I'd saw what that kind of rage could bring about. "Okay, Desmond," I replied while raising my hands up in a warding off gesture. "I won't call you that anymore if that's what you want."

The wrath left his form just as quickly as it had appeared, and I released the breath I'd been holding. "I have to go," he said in a low tone, moving around me toward the closed door. "I won't bother you or your family, Darrel. You have my word."

Desmond paused with his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. "It was good to see you again, though."

I stared after him in silence as he jerked the door open and strode away down the short hallway, the sound of his boots fading away within seconds. I could still see a shadow of the teenager he'd been, but everything was darker now than before. He was just as dangerous now as he'd been when he'd lived here before, and there was no way I was going to allow him to drag my family down into his personal Hell.

Unease and confusion were still warring inside me over the return of my ex-best friend, but I felt a little better now that I knew he would stay away from my brothers. Desmond may have been a wild and reckless asshole back in our younger days, but he always kept his word. That was about the only redeeming quality he'd had, and I was assuming that he was still that way now.

Why had he come back to Tulsa? What was the attraction that had brought him back?

* * *

_**Thank you for the personal messages while I've been away. They have been inspiring.**_


	4. Self Reflections

_**Self-Reflections**_

I watched Two-Bit disappear around the opposite end of the block toward where his junker was parked and turned away to make my lonesome way home. He'd had to go pick up his current blonde for a night out, and I didn't feel like being a third wheel on one of his romantic adventures. Girls bore me right now with all the giggling and gum popping, and the last thing I wanted to do was watch the Redheaded Romeo putting the moves on another unsuspecting chick. He would get smacked like always once his hands crossed the comfort boundaries, and I definitely didn't want to be a witness to that.

Sighing, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and turned in the opposite direction, wondering what I was going to do with myself until curfew. I didn't want to go back home this early and sit in front of the television with Darry, and I sure didn't want to sit on the hard bleachers at the drive-in by myself. I wasn't exactly itching to sit in a popular weekend spot for the Socs without having Sodapop or Two-Bit with me. That would just be asking for trouble.

Dropping my eyes to the sidewalk in front of me, I walked on automatically and tried to think of somewhere I could go to kill some time, my mind wandering like it always did when I was alone with my thoughts. Ever since had Johnny died, I'd had no one to hang out with and it was getting old fast. I knew I should be trying to make new friends to fill the void like Darry had said, but I just couldn't seem to connect with anybody from our side of town like I had with Johnny.

No one had ever known me the way Johnny Cade had and no one would ever understand me as well as he had … not even my brothers. I doubted if anyone ever would be that close to me again. That kind of thing was a once in a lifetime friendship, and I knew it wouldn't come along again for me.

I missed having Johnny to talk to and not even Sodapop, my closest thing to a best friend now, could take his place. Besides, Sodapop was always out with Steve somewhere anyway and Steve had made it plain that he didn't want me tagging along with them anymore. Darry worked all the time and was tired by the time he got home in the evenings, so he rarely ever went out at all.

_Not that I would even consider hanging out with Darry, _I thought with a chuckle as I pictured what an evening out with my oldest brother would be like. We'd go bowling at Pin Station in rented shoes that smelled like a wino had worn them for a few weeks, and then we'd eat at Jay's or some other diner that had cheap food served fast while kids screamed in the background and embarrassed parents tried to quiet them down.

A flashing red light caught my attention as it blinked in the water of a puddle on the pavement in front of me, and I stopped walking to search out the source. It took me a few seconds to recognize the neon 'open' sign hanging in the window of the ice cream parlor, but once I noticed it … it seemed like the most logical place for me to hide out for a while despite it being chilly outside. I didn't even like ice cream all that much, but the bright interior and the empty booths I could see through the large window beckoned to me for some reason.

_A Pepsi and some peace, _I thought as I fingered the change in my jeans pocket and continued to stare through the window. There were just a handful of people inside the parlor and I didn't recognize a single one of them. The kind of people we hung out with wouldn't be caught dead inside a kiddie place like this, so I could have my privacy to think without worrying about being interrupted by anybody that knew me.

I glanced around the street to make sure nobody would see me entering and pushed through the door into the parlor after ascertaining that the coast was clear. The few people inside turned to give me a once over before going back to their treats, and I strolled toward the booth at the very back where the bathrooms were located. It was right at the edge of the plate glass window looking out onto the parking lot at the side, but I sat with my back to the wall so nobody could see me unless they crossed right in front of it.

A menu was slid onto the table in front of me seconds later, and I lifted my head to find a frowzy looking blonde woman standing over me with an order pad and pencil clenched in her bony hands. She looked like a bleached out crow with spider legs attached to her eyelids to me, and I almost laughed when she raised one balding eyebrow at me in silent question. I would have to order something or risk being kicked out for loitering.

"Gimme a Pepsi," I said in a low voice as I shoved the menu across the table away from me. "No ice, please."

Her pencil hesitated over the pad a second as she peered at me through her spider-leg eyelashes, but she nodded silently before turning away. I watched her slog her way back to the counter and sighed silently before looking down at the pictures and crude carvings imbedded into the table top. The whole thing would've been funny as hell if Johnny or Dally had been there with me to witness it. I could almost hear Dally making smart comments about the woman's appearance and see Johnny trying to disappear under the table from embarrassment, and it made the ache in my chest grow more painful.

"And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer, let it be," a man's voice sang softly as the booth I was in shook slightly when someone slid into it across from me. "For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see, there will be an answer, let it be."

My head shot up, and I stared into a pair of glowing, green eyes surrounded by longish black hair that fell past the man's shoulders. Terror sliced through me in icy shards when I recognized who it was ... Desmond Morgan, the very one Darry had warned Soda and me to stay away from. Should I leave? Darry would have my ass if he knew I was this close to someone he'd told me to stay away from. Would Desmond be offended if I got up and left?

Desmond leaned forward in the booth and lifted one dark eyebrow at me as he laced his fingers together on the table. "Ponyboy, right?"

I nodded slightly even though I wanted to jump up from the booth and run, but my whole body was paralyzed. He knew my name! How did he know my name? _Because Sodapop probably told him_, the sarcastic voice in my head reasoned. _How else would he know?_

As if sensing my indecision, Desmond leaned back in the booth and dropped one arm into his lap, leaving the other to rest on the table while he picked at the corner of the menu I had pushed away. "Anything you care to talk about?" he asked in his melodious accent, his emerald gaze pinning me like a needle shoved through a butterfly. "I already know about John and Dallas."

The surprise I felt at that statement must have registered on my face because he added, "Shepard called me after the funeral."

Curiosity warred with my fear of what Darry would do if he found out I was talking to this man. I knew Darry would have my head on a silver server if he knew I was here with Desmond, but something in his demeanor drew me to him. He was an enigma, and the first person I had ever seen my eldest brother get so wound up over. That was enough to make me want to know more about his relationship to Darry.

"Which one?" I asked more bravely then I felt under that imposing stare. "T-Tim or Curly?"

Desmond pulled a battered pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and fished one out. "Tim, of course," he said with a snort of amusement, sticking the bent cigarette into his mouth. "Curly's an asshole."

He flipped a black Zippo open, and lit his cigarette before offering the pack to me. "You smoke, Ponyboy?"

I nodded and accepted one, leaning forward to light it from the Zippo's dancing flame. "Thanks."

Leaning back, I inhaled the smoke deeply and studied Desmond through the curls of grayish smoke now hanging over the table, my nerves finally calming down some. "Why does Darry call you Reaper?" I blurted out before my brain caught up with the rest of me. "Is it a nickname?"

Desmond nodded and turned in the booth to motion toward the frowzy, blonde waitress hovering a few feet away. She looked like the last thing she wanted to do was take his order, but the job required her to interact with him. "Sort of."

He blew a perfect smoke ring and raised one finger to slice it apart. "But that was a long time ago."

I was interested to know more about what had happened between him and Darry, but I didn't want to pry and take a chance on making him angry by asking too many questions. That was one thing even Soda complained about. He said I was too curious for my own good, and I didn't know when to stop asking so many questions.

Desmond ordered a Pepsi from the clearly scared waitress and waited for her to scurry away before turning his attention back to me. "So, what has you looking so hang dog, Pony?"

I was startled by the question for a second and almost dropped my cigarette. "N-Nothing," I lied quickly. "I didn't know I was looking … hang dog."

The words felt strange on my tongue, but I had a good idea of what they meant. It hadn't crossed my mind that anybody would've been able to see the effects of my thoughts since I've always been so good at keeping a poker face when something was bothering me. Desmond had seen it, though, and that was slightly embarrassing for me to realize.

"Guilt can wreak havoc on the mind," Desmond said quietly, a knowing expression in his eyes as he leaned forward once again. "And on the soul, too."

I was speechless, struck dumb by the truth in his words. Was that why I have felt so empty inside and separated from the rest of the gang in the last few months? Could my guilt over Johnny and Dally's deaths be the reason I was so out of it lately?

Before I could say anything, the waitress returned with our pops and slid them onto the table before hurrying away from the booth again. We sat in silence for a while, him drinking his pop and me smoking like every draw was my last. It was a comfortable silence that was surprising to me considering the type of person I was sharing it with.

I wondered how he knew what I was feeling inside, and if he'd ever felt that way himself. Coming to a decision, I ground my cigarette out in the tin ashtray between us. I really needed someone to talk to outside of our little group, someone who could look at things objectively and without any emotional attachments, and he was here offering to listen.

Darry wouldn't like it one bit, but he wouldn't understand the things going on in my head right now. I just had a feeling that Desmond would. My eyes were drawn to the colorful tattoos that covered his arm where it lay on the table, and I wondered once again if he was anything like those bikers we'd seen on the television at that war protest rally.

"I feel responsible," I said softly as I pulled my gaze off his arm and looked up to meet his startled gaze. "If I hadn't run away from Darry, Johnny and Dally would still be alive, and Johnny would never have killed that Soc."

Desmond took a swallow from the ice choked cup of Pepsi and turned his head away to stare through the large window at the parking lot. "Do you think John had any regrets about saving those kids from the fire?"

He turned his head a little to meet my eyes. "Ten lives for one seems like a good deal to me."

I was silent for a few minutes, turning this over in my head. Shaking my head slowly, I finally replied, "No. Johnny said it was worth it to save them, to give them a chance that he never had."

"There you go, then. There's your answer." He took another swallow from the cup and picked up his cigarette pack from the table. "John made the decision to save those kids. The two of you running away was destiny's method of getting you there to do it."

Before I could wrap my thoughts around his words, he asked, "No guilt there, right?"

I hesitated a few seconds as relief flooded me before I nodded in agreement with him. "Then let it be," he advised, lighting a cigarette and offering me the pack. "Destiny is a method of madness, and if you dwell too long on the whys and wherefores, it will drive you insane and kill your soul."

I accepted a cigarette with one shaky hand, moving closer so he could light it. There was still one more point that was bothering me, though. "But, Dal …"

"What Dallas did was a very selfish act, Pony." His low voice had an undertone of irritation and what sounded like anger in it. "It had nothing whatsoever to do with you. Dally always talked about going out in a blaze of glory, and he made the decision to do it his way."

One eyebrow rose questioningly and those serious eyes pinned me once again. "You can't be responsible for other peoples' actions. Free will, you dig?"

I nodded slowly and relaxed back against the booth, nearly exhausted from the emotional drain of talking about losing my friends. I could understand the free will thing better, but something else was digging at my brain now. The damn curiosity was coming back to haunt me. "Why does Darry have it in for you, Desmond?"

He shrugged and looked away, his features going completely blank. "I crossed a line in the sand."

_Crossed a line in the sand? _A picture of Darry digging a line in the playground sand with his tennis shoe popped into my head right then, and it only confused me even more since I knew that my brother wasn't much on fighting except when it came to the Socs. "I don't get it."

Desmond blew a smoke ring into the air lazily and shrugged again, tilting his head toward the window on his left. "You better get moving, kiddo. It's getting late, and your brothers are gonna be worried about you soon."

The finality in his tone told me that I wasn't going to get anything more out of him, so I took a long gulp from the remaining Pepsi in my glass before sliding out of the booth. I was digging in my jeans pocket for the change to pay for my pop while studying the tattoos that crawled up both of Desmond's arms to the shoulders of his sleeveless shirt. For some reason, the sight of so much ink fascinated me and some of the designs etched into his skin were intriguing to the artist side of me.

Desmond ground his cigarette out in the ashtray and motioned for me to quit digging. "I got this, kid. Quit playing pocket pool and get on home."

I hesitated a moment before pulling my hand back out of my pocket. "Thanks."

He dipped his head a little in answer, and I slowly headed for the door. It was like the whole atmosphere had shifted around us when I'd asked him about Darry, and I couldn't figure out why. It was clear that they had known each other before Desmond had shown up at our house to borrow a crowbar and it was equally clear that they had experienced some kind of falling out that had caused a rift between them, but the connection itself was a mystery to me.

The 'line in the sand" comment had told me only enough to get my imagination roaring, and puzzles were something I had always been good at.


End file.
